The Room I Called Home
by duo7700
Summary: Dash's parents have hit a rough patch in their marriage. How does this affect Dash? Well, read and find out in this prequel to my three-shot, "January". Read and review.


**I felt like doing a prequel of January, while keeping with Dash's point of view. So feast your eyes on the events that led to Dash moving in with Kwan.**

**-duo7700**

**The Room I Called Home**

**When My Life Fell Apart**

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><p>I looked at my house, weary of the front door and what was behind it. Of what had been behind it for the past few months. A rumble from my stomach told me that I should go inside, ignore them while I get something to eat, and then leave until curfew. I carried myself to the door, hesitating at the door as I heard my parents inside. I reached out for the ancient looking brass handle. The door opened just enough for me to partially squeeze through. I looked behind the door and saw a large print of van Gogh's Starry Night, the glass of the frame shattered into countless shards across the foyer. I moved the frame and leaned it against the wall. It was then that another of the prints, fortunately smaller, slammed into the door. The glass exploded as it hit the immaculate white door, which now sported a dent, revealing the soft tan of the wood. I flinched and felt liquid drip down my cheek. My plan changed. I walked upstairs to my bathroom and grabbed a pair of tweezers to pick out the sliver of glass out of my cheek. It was larger than I thought it was, nearly half an inch, I think. I took a red washcloth from the top drawer of the oak vanity and put it under the cool water flowing from the brass finish faucet, watching the water soak the linen and the splashes cascade against the glass bowl of the sink. I ringed out the excess water and dabbed it against my broken skin, wincing a little from the pain.<p>

I looked at myself in the mirror again. I don't recall ever looking the depressed. I removed the pressure from my wound. The gash looked much less severe with the blood removed. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a smallish rubber bandage from a box. I peeled the paper wrappers off and affixed it to my wound. Satisfied with my handiwork, I listened intently at the top of the stairs.

Silence.

I walked slowly downstairs and slipped into the kitchen. My mother stood there, scowl on her face, lit cigarette in her left hand, blue mini lighter in the other. Her gaze would go from the window to the pack of slim 100's sitting on the counter, mere inches away from the white porcelain ashtray. She finally noticed me as I bumped into her while grabbing a glass from the cabinet to her right. She hissed and retreated to the back patio.

I let out an exasperated sigh as I filled my glass with ice and grabbed a Coke from under the sink. With another hiss, this time from the warm can of cola, I took a sip. I set about making a grilled chicken sandwich. Well, technically sautéed chicken. I grabbed some chips from the pantry, tossed them on the plate next to the sandwich, and sat down at the kitchen island in a barstool. I finished as my father pulled his crimson car into the detached garage. I silently stepped out the front door as the screaming once again started.

I knew the streets of Amity well. I weaves my way through streets of row houses, the peculiar Fenton Works catching my eye as always. I caught a glimpse of Danny Fenton staring blankly out his window. I noticed he was missing from school lately, of course, I haven't gone this way in a while, so for all I know, he could've still been vacationing somewhere. Assuming his family did that kind of thing. His parents are odd, if not fucking bat-shit insane. They're ghost hunters or something. I remember them bursting into the elementary school doors, shouting something about a bespectacled ghost haunting the library.

Many of the younger kids were crying and ran out of the building. Danny merely looked mortified as his fellow fifth graders laughed. That's when he started getting bullied. Not by me, it was some kid named Nathan. Once he was expelled, I took his place. I'm not sure why I did it. I had nothing to prove. It merely seemed that someone should do it. It was the daily school routine, after all.

I rounded the corner and saw my objective: Kwan's house. I've been a frequent visitor since my parents began fighting. More than a few nights, I've slept here. His parents have a guest bedroom they let me use whenever I need it.

I knocked on the bright green door and heard his mother's voice yell, "Coming!"

As the door opened, a bright yellow sundress came into view. The smile on the woman's face was just as bright, "Hello, Dash," I detected the all too familiar note of concern in her voice

Knowing what she would soon ask, I answered her, "Hello, Mrs. Yu. My parents are fighting again. Got a little shrapnel to my face," I gestured to the small bandage on my cheek.

She looked concerned, just like any motherly individual would be. She gestured for me to go inside. Of course, I obliged.

I followed her to the kitchen, where she grabbed gauze and some antiseptic. "Let me see it," I gently peeled off the flesh-colored strip, revealing the angry red slice in my skin. She examined it and dabbed some antiseptic onto the wound, causing me to recoil somewhat from the sting. She took some of the gauze and affixed to some white tape, then carefully affixed it over my cheek. Her brown eyes stared into mine, "You're staying here tonight." Kwan came downstairs, hair still wet from the shower. He smiled at me, "I take it that you'll be staying here tonight?"

I nodded, "Parents are violent tonight, it's for the best."

He grabbed a small red and white envelope, "I got The Fifth Element from Netflix."

"Sounds great, do you mind if I take a shower first?"

He nodded and I made my way to the guest bedroom. I grabbed some clothes from the dresser that i kept here for just such an occasion and placed them upon the bed. I took my time getting undressed, carefully stretching the shirt so it didn't irritate the gash in my cheek, which had begun to once again ooze blood, turning the once pristine white gauze into a bloody red mess. I peeled it off, feeling the adhesive left behind. I turned to turn on the shower. I turned on and almost instantly, the small three-quarter bath filled with steam, warming up the cool room. I took a deep breath, the steam clearing up my sinuses, which I hadn't even noticed were stuffed up, and took a step into the shower. I took a few more deep breaths as I let the warm, almost hot, water wash over me. I reached for the shampoo and squeezed some of the blue gel onto my palm, wondering who thinks this is what an ocean breeze smells like. I rubbed my palms together, and then ran the vaguely cyan colored foam through my hair. I nearly let out a small scream when the foam hit the cut.

Carefully, I washed the soap out of my hair and grabbed the lead colored bottle of body wash, squeezed some of the milky white substance onto a pale yellow washcloth and began to wash. I looked into the mirror on the wall below the showerhead, watching the blood drip slowly down until it disappeared into the water cascading down my chest. I positioned myself so the water hit the source of the crimson and then reached out to grab some toilet paper to press down on it. I turned the water off and grabbed a towel that matched the washcloth. I wrapped it around my waist and headed into my room.

I pulled the white t-shirt, forgetting about the tissue stuck to my face. It fell down as the shirt hit it and blood leaked through the shirt, marring the purity of the pristine short. "At least it is just an undershirt," I thought to myself. I put my sweat pants on, reminding myself to bring some boxers next time I come. I grabbed a bandage from the well-stocked bathroom cabinet and put it on my face. I ran my fingers through my hair to slick it back and went to Kwan's room, where he was sitting on his bed staring at the television, which displayed a black and white clip of a bottling factory. He turned his attention toward me, "Dinner should be ready shortly. We're having pork stir-fry with noodles."

I said awesome and sat down next to him to watch what was evidently "Modern Marvels". It was a few minutes later that the delicious scent of dinner. Mrs. Yu was the greatest cook in the world. Well, at least in my world. It was after one or two minutes passed that she called up and told us it was ready.

I sat down at the table and instantly noticed the absence of Kwan's dad, "Dad is on a trip, in case you were wondering," Kwan smiled at me.

"I was, good call."

I took some of the noodles into my mouth. It was orgasmic. "The food is great, Mrs. Yu. Is that allspice I taste?"

She smiled and nodded, "Yes, I'd thought I'd change it up a bit."

As I ate, I took in every minute detail of the meal, simply because I wanted to get my mind away from the events of the afternoon. It wasn't long before my food was gone. I excused myself and went upstairs to watch Kwan's TV while he finished and put up leftovers.

Just as "Modern Marvels" ended, Kwan walked in. He turned on his blu-ray player, switched the flat screen to HDMI, and sat on the bed next to me. We watched in relative silence, occasionally laughing. Mostly, I enjoyed the all too familiar storyline, getting lost in my mind and being brought back to reality by explosions and gunfire.

Shortly after the movie ended, I left for my room and went to sleep

School was uneventful. I aced a pop quiz in Algebra, not surprising in the least. As i neared my front door, I heard shouting, also not surprising.

The subject was, however. Neither of them wanted me. A tear threatened to fall down my face as my eyes watered. I had readied myself for a divorce. I was content with living with either parent. But neither wanted me. I didn't want to go in, but I had to get clothes. I slipped through the door and went to get clothes. I stuffed then unceremoniously into my duffel bag. I left for Kwan's house amid the screams of my parents, who turned their attention to me.

They had found my porn.

They both demanded answers.

They finished shouting at me as I got to the sidewalk, "Stay out of my house, you fucking fag!"

The last shout was painful. Weren't parents supposed to care about you, no matter what?

The tears began to fall as a snowflake landed on my nose. I had just been kicked out of my home. Will the Yu's take me in?

It was absurd to ask, Kwan's parents spoke to one another for less than a minute before offering me the room I called home.

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><p><strong>Feeling left out? Then read January. Still feel left out? Sorry. Use your imagination.<strong>


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